


Teetering

by StripedScribe



Series: Febuwhump2021 [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Dark, FebuWhump2021, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:00:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29152398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: It was too much. He was never alone, with the screaming sounds of the city around him, the pitying voices, the constant reassurance, that he was fine. He was coping, he was thriving.He wasn’t, he really wasn’t.A downward spiral, each night another straw to the pile on his back, a flame to the fire dragging him down.Day 2 FebuWhump [I can't do this anymore]
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Franklin "Foggy" Nelson
Series: Febuwhump2021 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136723
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Teetering

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags. Matt is going through a tough time, and I was when I wrote this, so it's a little own thoughts in there as well.  
> Be careful with yourselves. Stay safe  
> I love you all. xx

“I can’t do it anymore.” A moment, a teetering second on the edge of a ledge. “I can’t take this anymore, the city, the sounds, the screaming.”

A block away, another scream, and he flinched, wanting to go. But the multitude of stitches in his chest prevented him, knowing a jump would pull them, leave him bleeding in the alleyway, a slow walk towards death. A night off, to rest, but he couldn’t shut his hearing off, couldn’t stop him from hearing everything, all the monsters and demons. The crime happening around his city, and it’s lone protector off, healing.

It wasn’t fair. It had never been fair, this world to him. Stealing his sight, giving him these powers, this guilt, stealing his family from him. A cry out to the universe, to his God, for something or someone to stop this pain. If he could just shut it all out again, let it be over. Even in the cool embrace of sleep it wasn’t over, something waking him up, a scream, an alarm.

Juggling two jobs, both apparently as important as the other, trying to find time for normal things, for church, to eat. To spend time with friends. There was never enough time in the day, would never be enough time.

He only brought stress to everyone else. A constant source of worry in his friends’ lives. When they thought he was dead, he was sure they’d have moved on. It would be even easier if there was a body, he knew they’d had months trying to find him, to prove either way. Some sense of finality, if he could stop fucking everything up once and for all.

But he couldn’t bring himself to fall. To just take that last movement, unbalance himself enough to let go. He’d thought this was would be easier, an accident, simpler than finding something. A fall off a building, they might not even know it was on purpose. Quick. Simple.

It was as though he was waiting for someone to try and stop him. To pull him back from this brink, this hell-hole he was falling into. But it would be easier, to just fall, to let someone else pick up the pieces. Why couldn’t he?

It was late at night, he wouldn’t be missed until the morning. Could sit here and freeze until the sun rose, then carry on with life as normal. Could stay here forever, no one to pity the blind man. No one to blame the Devil for all the world’s problems, when all he was doing was trying to save it.

No one he could hurt when he messed up over and over again. When he died, when he got injured, and yet God brought him back to life, for some cruel punishment, to atone for other people’s sins. He’d asked, countless times, trying to find out why he was on this world, what he should be doing, how was he supposed to help. To follow the law, to stick between the lines and ignore everything, or to break it, take the law into his own hands and shape it where it suited.

Inside, he heard a phone ring. His phone, bleating out the words of his best friend. He couldn’t bring himself to move, knowing if he left it, Foggy would simply assume he was out patrolling. It was pathetic, that even now, they needed to check in on him, to ring him, with their pitying comments. Idly, he wondered if they did this often, called him in the evening, and he never knew about it, his phone abandoned at home.

It was too much. He was never alone, with the screaming sounds of the city around him, the pitying voices, the constant reassurance, that he was fine. He was coping, he was thriving. ~~He wasn’t, he really wasn’t.~~ A downward spiral, each night another straw to the pile on his back, a flame to the fire dragging him down. It would be easy enough to take that last massive step, the one he’d been teetering on for days, for weeks.

The concrete was cool, freezing, even as he knelt down. Trying to plead for some sort of sign, some sort of saviour to this cage he was trapped in. He could only laugh as the sky remained empty, the screams continued to build, mixing with his own, that before now, he didn’t even realise he was making. In the city, it would be ignored, just another idiot out drinking, ruining their own lives. Everyone here only looked out for themselves, weren’t supposed to care for the screams, keep your head down, keep out of trouble, get home safe. Lessons in defence, instead of teaching the attackers a lesson, stopping them. The cops in the pockets of the gangs, too used to turning a blind eye, too caught up in whatever was going on in the streets to actually protect them.

Leaving it on the shoulders of vigilantes, who they’d try to kill at the first sight, but were the only ones actually doing any good in here, dealing with the mess and the riff raff of the streets. At least that would be a worry off of everyone else, one less vigilante to chase, one less person to worry after.

Better to end it on his terms, than a stay in Rikers, or worse, the Raft. Probably the Raft, once they’d found his secrets, exposed his identity, disbarred him, disbarred Foggy and punished him as well, punished everyone he’d ever tried to love.

They’d always said, assumed at least, he would die in the suit. Too early and too young, and it would be Foggy left to deal with that fallout, of a stranger finding Daredevil dead in an alleyway, the chaos of an unmasking. It would be easier, be safer, for everyone, if there was some way of guaranteeing he could die as himself, not as the Devil.

Foggy had tried to say again, that he could hang up the horns, he’d move away with him, out of the bustling city, to somewhere quieter. The screams wouldn’t just stop if he left though, he’d always know that there were people in need of help. Know that wherever he was, people would be hurting, and he couldn’t always do enough within the law to help them.

He wouldn’t give up the Devil until he had to. Or until the Devil took him, and he was trying his hardest tonight. The closest he’d come in a long time. A wave of guilt rushed over him, and he rose to stand, he couldn’t do that. He should go in, ring Foggy, ask for help, before he did something stupid.

As he stood, he wobbled, legs numb from the cold. And he toppled down, an arm outstretched to try and save his fall, losing which way was his roof, which way was the alleyway. Hoping he was falling the right way, that he-


End file.
